For some reason, I'm really missing times spent visiting my grandma as a child . I can't adequately explain it. We've always lived quite a distance from her and I always wondered what it might have been like to have grown up in her small town. There, the woods are thick. Land is not near as developed as it is here. It's quiet. It's peaceful. It smells good. It's true country living. A breath of fresh air. To walk the land wondering if anyone else stepped foot on that exact spot. Yes, I grew up in the country. But not like the country at my grandma's. Her house was nested among many wooded acres, and paths that led to the next house which belonged to my Aunt Jane. The chicken coupe and garden were among my favorite places to explore. The room we stayed in belonged to my grandpa, along with the bed in which we slept. If I close my eyes, I can still smell the scent of that house. I can feel the floor beneath my feet. In the winter, the only source of heat came from the wood stove which smelled like a campfire in the deep woods. Oh how I miss that place. The adventures with my cousins. The sound and smell of my grandma cooking. The wonder of what was inside the old trunk in the family room. And the decision over which rocker I would sit in. These things comforted me. And tonight, for some reason, I'm missing them more than usual.
Maybe it's the simplicity that I miss. We had more time for adventure. More time to dream. Just... more time. Things are often too busy today. We have too many TV's; too many electronics. My grandma had one TV and it was in the basement. It was peaceful, even with many visitors. Hearing family stories was much more interesting, espeically with the southern accent of those who told them.
I miss these days. I miss my grandma's old house. I miss walking through the woods. I miss my grandpa, even though I knew him for only a short 12 years. I miss my grandma, although still living, I don't see her enough. She is 99. Wow. Ninety-nine. I've always looked up to her. And I'll always love her.